Lyvana's red Toyota Corolla pulled up in front of Aurora Fashion House.
Beyond her trust fund, this was the only thing she truly owned. Aurora was her mother's legacy. It hadn't flourished much after her death, but it had endured.
Then, a few months before her wedding in her previous life, everything had changed. An anonymous investor had appeared out of nowhere, pouring money into her company. Connections followed and Aurora had risen almost overnight.
Back then, Lyvana had been too timid to ask questions. Way too eager to please Mark. She'd let him help, by managing the accounts, signing the contracts and making the decisions.
On their wedding day, she had signed the company over to him, believing his careful promises about building their future together.
That future had ended in blood.
Not this time.
She grabbed her phone and handbag and got out of the car. She had purposely ignored Mark's call all morning.
The fashion house occupied a corner building. It was simple, yet undeniably elegant. Tall windows at the front showcased carefully arranged designs inside.
The pieces were modest and refined, but today, Lyvana was here to change everything. No more safe designs.
Armed with the knowledge from her past life, she already knew designs that had never been created yet — and she was ready to bring them to life.
Pushing through the heavy glass doors, Lyvana was met with the familiar chime of the overhead bell and the comforting scent of steamed fabric and fine silk.
The sales staff went quiet as she walked in. In her previous life, she would have slipped by quietly, offering shy smiles and staying out of the way. Today, her heels clicked sharply against the hardwood, each step radiating authority.
"Miss Lyvana?" Sarah, the sales manager, looked up from a rack of beige linen dresses. "You're here… we weren't expecting—"
"I know," Lyvana cut in calmly. "Tell Lucille to meet me in the back studio in twenty minutes. And contact the firm that oversees our inventory. I want a complete audit of every yard of fabric we own."
Sarah blinked, startled. "The audit? Mr. Vaughn usually handles—"
"Mark doesn't own this building," Lyvana said, stopping mid-stride to meet her gaze. "I do. And from today, I'm the only one making the calls."
Lyvana strode down the polished hallway toward her office.
"Miss Lyvana," Sarah called, catching up with her. "There's someone waiting for you in front of your office."
Lyvana raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" She pushed the door open.
It was Bertha.
"Ah, you are here." She said turning to Sarah. "This is Bertha. She'll be my personal assistant."
Sarah blinked, a hint of surprise on her face. "Your… assistant?"
"Yes," Lyvana said. "Bertha will handle my schedule, correspondence, and anything I assign directly. You continue managing sales as usual, Sarah, and let her do the assistant work, but keep her in the loop on anything relevant to me."
Sarah nodded. "Of course, Miss Lyvana."
Bertha followed Sarah out.
Lyvana stepped into the bright studio at the back of the building. Sketches of plain, conservative tea dresses covered the walls — the "safe" designs that had kept the company barely afloat.
With a swift motion, she began ripping them down.
Then she grabbed a charcoal pencil. With steady hands she sketched the images in her mind: the high-slit gowns, the architectural blazers, and the bold, asymmetrical silhouettes that would dominate the runways two years from now.
By the time the designer rushed into the studio, the main table was covered with raw, aggressive sketches that looked nothing like the "Aurora" they knew.
"This is our new direction," Lyvana told her, pointing to a sketch of a structured crimson gown. "We aren't playing it safe anymore."
Lucille stared in awe. She hadn't been with the company long, but she knew brilliance when she saw it.
"This is incredible, Ms. Lyvana."
Lyvana smiled. "I want full designs based on these. Silhouettes, fabric options, production notes. Start today."
A knock interrupted them. It was Sarah looking pale and holding a cordless phone.
"I am sorry to interrupt, it's... it's Mr. Vaughn, Miss Lyvana. He says it's urgent. He sounds very worried about why you aren't answering your cell."
In her past life, that "worry" would have made her heart melt. Now, she recognized it for what it was: the sound of a man losing his grip on a prize he hadn't earned yet.
"Tell him I'm busy," she said coolly. "I'll call him after my meeting."
Sarah nodded and slipped out.
Lucille stood by her side, her pencil poised. "Where do we start first?" she asked.
"Everything," Lyvana replied. "We start with the gowns. Then the blazers, the dresses, the accessories — nothing is off-limits. Every piece must turn heads, make a statement, and leave people talking. I don't want ordinary. I want unforgettable."
Lucille's eyes widened, excitement all over her face. "Unforgettable… I can do that."
"Good," Lyvana said. "And remember, secrecy is key. If anyone asks, these are just preliminary sketches — nothing more. We'll unveil them when the time is right."
Lucille rolled up her sleeves. "Let's make history."
....
Lyvana slipped into the driver's seat, her heels clicking against the car floor. Her phone vibrated insistently — Mark again. She sighed then tapped the screen.
"Hello," she said smoothly, keeping her tone casual.
"Lyvana, finally! I've been trying to reach you all morning," he said, tension in his voice.
"I've been busy," she replied evenly, glancing at the rearview mirror.
"Busy doing what?"
"Running Aurora Fashion House takes priority."
He laughed. "Lyvana, I run Aurora, you just concentrate on graduating college."
"You don't say," Lyvana repeated lightly.
Mark's laugh faded. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing," she said, sweet as ever. "Just agreeing with you."
There was a brief pause. She could almost hear him frowning.
"Good," he said. "Because I don't want you stressing yourself out. Leave the business side to me."
"Of course," Lyvana replied easily, pulling into traffic. "I trust your judgment."
The words tasted false on her tongue, but she delivered them smoothly. Let him think she was still pliable. Let him believe she hadn't changed.
Mark exhaled, satisfied. "I'll see you later. Be ready."
Lyvana raised an eyebrow. "Ready for what?"
There was a sharp pause on the line. "The banquet," Mark said flatly. "Don't tell me you've forgotten."
Lyvana's grip tightened on the wheel.
In her past life, that night had ended in her being raped by several escorts.